


Strings of Chocolate

by mazandaroga



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nadir's POV, sometimes Reza's POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-04 16:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazandaroga/pseuds/mazandaroga
Summary: Having a one-star Michelin star restaurant in Paris, Nadir Khan’s life was everything but boring. With much of his life devoted to his restaurant, he had little time for his seventeen year old son at home. His social life was nonexistent, and with the hard work, he didn’t have to deal with his troubled past.Until a colleague came too close for comfort, and shook his life awake.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a loooong time. I'm sorry for not posting a fic, or responding to any messages, but my life has been busy with work and social life. But I promise to work daily on this fic, since working in a restaurant is what I do for a living, and gives me inspiration. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The kitchen was filled with the rich smell of spices, and when the summer breeze stirred the tall trees of the garden, through the open window came the heavy scent of lilies. It made Nadir sneeze.

He hadn’t been home for so long that he forgot they had lilies in their garden. His wife loved them.

It surprised him how quiet his house was; he expected Reza to welcome him, or at least to be in the kitchen or the living room. He checked his bedroom, but his son wasn’t home. Now knowing he was alone, it suffocated him. If he knew that his son wouldn’t be home, he would have stayed at his restaurant.

His heart was beating fast, snippets of the past catching up to him and Nadir closed his eyes, putting his hand over them. He took a deep breath. He could do this. 

In two minutes he grabbed his summer jacket, and left his house.

*

The restaurant was still empty except for him. The stoves were clean, as were the ovens, like Nadir instructed. He smiled, his fingers sliding over the metal. He took pride in his restaurant; it was his soul. Hard work, sweat, and love was put into it. 

His restaurant was themed to his home country Iran, which he sadly had to flee from, with the corruption and politics he didn’t agree with. Despite his hate for the politics, the love for his country was there; he was sure people could taste it in his food. The sweet in his pastries, or the sour and spices in his beef or chicken. 

Nadir checked if everything was put in the freezer, and had the correct date written on it. The task was boring, and the least eventful, but it had to be done. He didn’t want any rumors about his kitchen using spoiled food. He already had enough dumb critics for an Iranian restaurant being in Paris.

He grunted, remembering one critic recently, how he said that his chicken with saffron rice tasted like cardboard. He went on an hour long rant, with Raoul the only one being willing to listen it seemed. No, no. Nadir shook his head. He looked  down at his notepad, sighing. Erik, his sous chef, brought him to his office. They talked, and Erik calmed him down, saying that the critic was from a not important magazine. That it wouldn’t hurt his restaurant. 

Erik. It was almost like his heart warmed up, just thinking about him, but he refused to think of his colleague in that way. His heart still belonged to his wife. To no one else but her. 

He took a deep breath.

The first to come into his kitchen next was his colleague Christine, who was still struggling with the buttons on her shirt. She yawned loudly, which made Nadir turn, pausing in slicing of the cucumbers. He was quite surprised to see her. “You are early today. My delivery man hasn’t come yet.”

Christine had a small frown on her face, her eyes half closed, like she came just out of bed. “How late is it?” she looked around. 

“It is six in the morning.” Nadir answered.

Her eyes widened in shock. “What – but my alarm went off. Wait, oh that stupid phone of mine. I think I put on the wrong one.”

Nadir arched an eyebrow in response; not having much understanding of the phones nowadays. “How?”

“I have two timers, and one is set at five in the morning.” She pouted a little, and Nadir saw she was embarrassed, a blush on her cheeks. 

“Why was one set at five?” He asked then, curious.

“It was from when I traveled to Sweden for a week, and I had to catch the plane at eleven.” Christine replied. “I already thought that the metro was very quiet.”

Nadir chuckled softly. “Take a coffee, dear, relax. You start at seven.”

Christine smiled warmly at him, and she nodded. “Thank you.” She said, and she left the kitchen. Nadir saw her shaking her head before the door closed behind her. That girl has too much on her mind, he thought.

Not long after, his delivery came, and Nadir helped with the boxes, loading all the meat in the freezer. He tried to hook the beef, but seeing he wasn’t the tallest, he had trouble to reach the other hook. He huffed and puffed, his body freezing. A thin hand appeared, long fingers grabbing the hook, and he put it on the other, closing. “There.” A silky smooth voice said, a voice Nadir heard too many times in his dreams. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Erik standing close.

“Thank you.” He said shortly, a bit standoffish. 

“You could have asked the delivery man to help you.” Erik said, and he straightened his uniform shirt. 

Nadir turned fully then. “He already is busy enough.” He shrugged, and he lifted his chin a bit, looking into Erik’s amber eyes. His black mask covered his whole face, except for his scarred mouth, chin, and his eyes. 

“I think he won’t mind helping you. You looked like a humping buffoon just now.”

That made Nadir laugh, and he slapped Erik on his chest. “Don’t talk to your boss like that.”

“I thought we were more friends than colleagues.” Erik smirked, and Nadir already knew that Erik was teasing him. He rolled his eyes.

“Of course we are, but don’t forget who I am.” Nadir poked his chest with one finger. 

Erik grabbed his hand, taking Nadir by shock, and he smiled. “I know exactly who you are.” He said, and then he let go. He turned, and he left the freezer, and Nadir didn’t know what to think. What did he mean by that?

He quickly forgot what happened, like he always did when it came to Erik, and he busied himself with the other deliveries. He sorted them out, and while doing so, his other colleagues came into the kitchen, including Christine after her coffee. 

Everyone got to their tasks; Christine did the sweets, as it was her specialty. Raoul did the salads, and as he was new to it, Nadir gave him instructions, how to make them tasty. He did well on his own, and Nadir believed in him,  but Raoul was too nervous for his own good. Nadir hoped in time that it would be better. 

Erik was already preparing the food for dinner; dry meat was being sliced, so that it would get that smokey taste when it would be grilled. He was chopping potatoes now, with the skin still on, and Nadir kept a sharp eye on him. He did not admit that his eyes looked more at Erik than on what he was doing. 

“Still doubting me, monsieur?” Erik had that sly grin on his face, his amber eyes on Nadir. He stopped chopping his potatoes. Nadir locked eyes with Erik.

“I always check on my workers once in a while, you know that.” Nadir said calmly, while internally he blessed Allah that his sous chef didn’t notice him staring at  _ him _ , instead of his work.

“I understand if you keep your eye on this new guy, but not me.” Erik said, and despite the mask, Nadir could see him arch an eyebrow, a muscle moving.

“Do I have to remind you what happened last week? You almost burnt my  _ kuku-ye mahi _ *? You also need to learn a lot. A chef always learns.” Nadir reminded him.

“I –  I was distracted. It won’t happen again.” Erik said, and he started to chop his potatoes again. Nadir smiled, amused, knowing that Erik didn’t like being called out. He left him alone, and he went to his office. He eyed the clock on his computer, seeing that it was only nine in the morning. He knew it was going to be a long day.

*

It was ten in the evening when Nadir arrived home again, completely exhausted, and bones aching. He dropped his keys on the salon table, and he sat on his couch. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, as his body finally took rest. He was already close to dozing off, but quick footsteps in the house made him alert, and when he opened his eyes, he saw his seventeen year old son Reza standing in front of him, giving a smile.

“You are home.” He said, as if he couldn’t believe it. “I made food, and there’s enough for you.”

Nadir didn’t have the heart to say he already ate at his own restaurant. He smiled back at his son, and he stood, back stretching. “What did you make?” he asked.

“ _ Soup-e daal addas* _ .” Reza said proudly, and Nadir was taken by surprise.

“Oh? And the house is still standing? Amazing.”

Reza snorted, and he nudged Nadir. “Very funny! Come try it!”

They entered the kitchen, and Nadir noticed the dirty dishes in the sink, and he eyed Reza, who brushed it off with “ _ I’ll clean it later _ !” with his hand. He heated the soup, and he filled in a bowl for Nadir. “Try it!”

Nadir chuckled at how eager Reza was for him to taste it. He took a spoon, blew on the hot soup, and took a spoonful. The spices were there, the soup not too thick and it brought a smile on his face, but he kept quiet, to tease his son. He observed him; his thick curly hair was growing, over his shoulders, and his face was more round. He looked more like his Rookheya every day.

“And?” Reza asked, and he was practically bouncing.

“It is good.” Nadir answered, after his second spoonful. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Reza made a move with his arms that Nadir had no idea what it meant, and he frowned in confusion. He shrugged it off, and he finished his soup, as Reza cleaned the dishes.

The house did not feel so suffocating as before, and it made him breathe with ease. “How was school?” he asked Reza, who gave him a look over his shoulder, his lips pressed.

“Awful. Bunch of essays I don’t care about.” He said, and he put the pans away.

Nadir smiled, remembering how much he hated school; he liked to learn through practice, then reading in some book. They talked for a while, and it felt good, at least for Nadir. It was when Reza got back to his room to finish his homework, that Nadir felt squeamish in his own home again.

Every corner, every smell, or scene reminded Nadir of his wife; he never processed her death. It still felt she was around him, her warm arms around his waist, telling him calming and encouraging words whenever he felt doubts about starting his restaurant.

It had been seventeen years. She gave him a son, and there had been tears. Nadir had never felt so happy, having his son in his arms, crying, but the happiness was short-lived. His wife died shortly after giving birth, ripped away from him. His tears of joy changed into despair and pain.

He never loved any woman or man after her.

He couldn’t. It felt like betrayal, if he was cheating on her.

But then Erik came into his life one year ago, and he knew he shouldn’t have trusted Darius – his old friend and colleague – to do the job applications. He ignored his own feelings, mostly pushing Erik back, not wanting him too close. He could fire him, of course, but he was an asset in his kitchen. A skilled cook, and quick with a knife. He would be an idiot to fire him.

That was what he told himself.

But days like this, how Erik managed to make his heart beat faster by just standing near, scared him greatly. He would never love again. His heart belonged to his wife, his son, and the restaurant.

Not to some stranger with a mask to hide his disfigured face. 

Late at night, he looked at himself in the mirror when he was brushing his teeth. He saw a forty year old man, with an unkempt beard, with tired eyes.

But mostly, he saw a lonely man.


	2. Lost

It had been a week since he last spoke with his son. He made long hours, and when he slept, it was in his office. His back was in everlasting pain, but he didn’t stop working. He continued to help Raoul with his salads, and he instructed Christine how to make bastani.

“It will taste so much better with Dutch waffles, right?” Christine said once. Nadir simply looked at her, and she quickly dropped the idea.

He tried to avoid Erik as best as he could, but he knew the realization that he had to check if he stuck to his recipes. His comments were short, and he was sure that Erik noticed, but he didn’t care.

He saw Reza briefly on a Monday evening. A glimpse, really. He saw Reza walking up the stairs, and Nadir hoped that he would turn at hearing him. But Reza walked into his room, not sparing him a glance. He could call Reza to come downstairs, but Nadir had no right, since he was the one who avoided their house like the plague.

Nadir let out a bitter laugh. After cooking, it seems avoiding situations was his best job.

He slept in his own bed again, which his back was most thankful for, but the emptiness washed over him. The empty space beside him was more present than ever. Her perfume was long gone, but Nadir could still smell her, feel her warm fingers on his upper arm, and hear her sweet words.

His hand reached out, and his fingers slid over the cold sheets. She was not here anymore.

She hadn’t been for a long time, but Nadir couldn’t get over her. He would never. Even when she was away, he would hold her in his heart.

His thoughts traveled to Erik, how his crooked smile made Nadir’s heart skip a beat. How his soft, lingering laughs made him happy.  _ No _ . His fingers clawed into the cold sheets. He  _ hated _ Erik for making him feel this  _ way _ .  He hated him.

He shouldn’t feel happy. His wife died. He couldn’t be happy. He would not betray her.

He loved his wife.

*

His life had been quiet since his wife’s passing, except for the ruckus in the kitchen of his restaurant. The chopping of the vegetables, pans sliding over the stoves, or the servers shouting the orders. But that changed when he woke one morning in his office, hearing music in the kitchen.

For a few seconds he was confused, thinking he was still dreaming, but a voice was singing, getting more clearer. Nadir sat up right, stretching his upper body, back cracking. Yes, it was clearly coming from the kitchen, and not from his dream or the restaurant.

He stood up, muscles straining and tired, and he walked to his kitchen. A radio was playing, and Nadir saw – well, heard – Erik singing with whichever song was playing. He stared at him from the door, speechless, because his voice was out of this world.

He never knew his colleague could sing, he never mentioned or sung before, and Nadir was struck by the beauty. It made him question what even Erik was doing in his restaurant.

As the song ended, Nadir made sure that Erik was not in the know that he was eavesdropping. He backed away, heart pounding, and he tried his best to calm down. But oh that voice, his body reacted in a way he did not suspect. He felt captured by his voice, in the best possible way ever.

But then he shook his head, clearing away his thoughts. No. No, he belonged to his wife.

“Monsieur Khan?”

Nadir let out a high-pitched scream, seeing Christine standing in front of him suddenly. She looked shocked by his reaction, her hands going up to her chest.

“I am sorry! I thought you –  _ Min Gud _ – are you okay?” she asked.

Nadir nodded, breathing deeply, but he smiled. “Yes, yes, I am good, Ms. Daaé. What is it that you wanted to ask?”

“Oh – I was actually going to ask what you were doing here instead of in the kitchen?”

Nadir blinked several times, trying to catch his breath. “Just wondering who bought the radio.”

Christine giggled then, hand on her mouth. “That was Raoul’s idea, and for once, Erik agreed with him. It’s so silent in the kitchen sometimes. It brings joy in the kitchen, don’t you think?”

“I guess so. I am just surprised, that is all.” Nadir smiled at her, to ease her that he was fine with the radio. Especially if Erik kept singing.

*****

Nadir brought something new on the menu,  _ Sabzi Polo ba Tahdig-e Mahi _ *, and people were loving it. His restaurant was filled every night, a queue standing outside, and Nadir felt pride in his restaurant once more. His reviews for the fish recipe were positive (not that he was searching on the internet for reviews. Totally not).

It also meant he made long hours in his restaurant, and Raoul made a joke he should put his bed in the office instead of home. Nadir knew he was joking, but it felt like a jab, reminding him that he was neglecting his son. He didn’t even know what his son was doing.

So it shocked him one morning, when he was washing the carrots, that he heard voices in the back room. He frowned, and he looked at who were talking. His eyebrows almost reached his hairline, seeing Reza laughing with Erik.

“Reza?” he gasped.

His son looked up, and he gave a tiny smile. “Ah, so you are alive!” he replied.

Another jab, but Nadir was too happy to see Reza. He walked to him with long steps, and he hugged him. Reza huffed, but he looped his arms around Nadir’s waist. “I missed you.”

“It will be nice to see you more home.” Reza whispered in his ear, most likely so Erik couldn’t hear them. Nadir pulled away, and he glanced at his colleague.

Erik nodded, and he left them alone in the backroom, closing the door behind him.

“He is funny.” Reza said, talking about Erik.

Nadir let out a chuckle. “He can be, if he wants to. But Reza, you know why I make those long hours.”

“No one works for twenty-four hours, a whole week long or more. Dad, I am worried. This isn’t healthy.” Reza sighed, looking frustrated. “I always make more food than I need to, because you are never home!”

“That is not true, I tried your soup –“

“That was three weeks ago!”

Silence fell in the room, and Nadir did not believe Reza at first, because in no way did the time past by so quickly. To be sure, he grabbed his phone from his pocket. April fifth. He glanced back at Reza, seeing for the first time in his eyes how tired and hurt he was. “I… I…” he stammered. How could he talk this good?

He couldn’t.

“Please be home tonight, dad.” Reza said.

Nadir nodded immediately. “I will.” He promised.

*****

Reza was setting the table, putting two plates. He made Koufteh Ghelgheli*, and he made sure there was enough kosher salt in it. He was sure that his dad would love it. He followed his recipe after all.  His dad told he would come home around seven, and Reza expected to hear the keys any second.

But his dad didn’t come.

Reza waited for an hour at the table, food turning cold, but he had hope. Maybe there was an accident at the kitchen?

One hour became two, and Reza threw the food away, not hungry anymore.

He was stupid to believe – or even hope – that his dad would come home for him. Reza took a deep breath, and he pushed his feelings away. If his dad didn’t care, then why should he?

*

Nadir woke in the early morning, by someone rubbing his shoulder. He snored, squeezing his eyes first before opening them. His office oddly smelt like burnt leather, and he sat up straight, seeing Erik in his sight. His colleague looked absolutely wrecked, his clothes were covered by some black dust. He was holding a bag, filled to the brim it seemed, and his knees were shaking. Nadir quickly stood on his feet, and he helped Erik to sit on his chair. “What the hell happened?” he asked, and he patted away the dust. His own hand turned black.

“I called you, but you did not pick up. My flat building caught fire – some imbecile let his candle burn or whatever some dumb story they came up with. I lost everything. I could save some clothes, my tablet, and my cat. I have nowhere to go.” Erik rambled.

Nadir never saw him so messed up, looking in shambles, and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He knew about Erik’s private life, how he had no contact with his family, and basically had no friends except for his colleagues. “Maybe Christine has –“

“No. I already called her. She has no room, since she is living with a roommate.”

“How about –“

“If you say his name, I swear.”

Nadir rolled his eyes, but he kneaded Erik’s shoulder in comfort. Maybe there was some shelter in Paris that could pick him up. An idea passed his mind, which first he was against, but he saw never no other way. What if there was no shelter?

He could not let his friend sleep in the streets.

“Where is your cat? You said you saved your cat.”

Erik looked into his eyes, amber meeting emerald. “In the back. I know you don’t like cats.”

“Come, grab her.” He said.

No. He shouldn’t bring him to his home. Not where he and his wife lived.

“Are you sure, Khan?”

No. he wasn’t sure. He loved his wife. Not him. He hated him.

“Yes, I am sure. I have an spare room.”

*

The drive was quiet and a bit awkward, with Ayesha the cat meowing in the background. Erik shot Nadir an apologizing look for her sounds. “Mostly she is quiet.” He said, and he opened the window a bit, which silenced Ayesha. Nadir glanced over his shoulder, seeing her wide eyes.

“She will not puke, right?” he asked.

“This is her first ride in a car. We will see.”

Nadir eyed Erik hard, not finding his joke funny. Apparently Erik did, having an crooked smile on his face. But the smile did not stay long, disappearing like snow for the sun.

Nadir parked in front of his house, and he noticed Erik staring at it. His house was pretty big, outside the center of Paris, and Nadir guessed it looked much better than Erik’s flat. He climbed out of his car, and Erik followed him, holding his bag and the carrier where Ayesha laid in.

He opened the door for Erik, looking at his colleague, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Nadir cleared his throat. “Come in.” he said, and Erik stepped inside. The front entryway was clean, and the hardwood floor shined. On the coat rack beside the front door hung Reza’s coat.

Erik bended to take his shoes off, and Nadir saw the holes in his socks. He didn’t comment on it. Did he not pay Erik enough?

“I can’t thank you enough. I can pay you. Give me a month, and I’ll find another flat.” Erik started, and Nadir held his hand up. He made a motion for Erik to follow him, which he did. They walked up the stairs, and Nadir opened the first door on the right.

“This is our guest room. Mostly my friend sleeps here, but it’s been a long time. Everything is clean.” Nadir told him. He observed Erik, who looked at the two person sized bed inside the room, and the white closet. The window had a view over the garden.

Erik looked back at Nadir, and he was shocked to see tears in his amber eyes. “Shit… this means a lot to me. I will work more shifts. My flat is beyond repair, and I have no insurance. I – I have no savings at all.”

“Hey, hey, breathe!” Nadir said, and he rested his hand on Erik’s upper arm. “You don’t have to pay me. Make sure your own life gets settled, and for now, you’ll continue your job at my restaurant. No need to rush.”

“Mr. Khan, I can’t –“

“Yes, you can and you will. Just,” he pointed at the carrier. “Don’t let her come in my room.”

Erik huffed out a laugh. “Christ, why are you doing this for me.”

“You came to me this morning, so you know why.”

Erik looked at  him, eyes still teary. “I do not dare to think of you like that.”

“We are friends, Erik.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sabzi Polo ba Tahdig-e Mahi – Herbed rice with Fish Tahdig
> 
> * Koufteh Ghelgheli – Lamb meatballs with carrots and potatoes

**Author's Note:**

> *Kuku-ye mahi – Bandari fishcake with a tamarind and date sauce  
> *Soup-e daal addas – spicy lentil soup with tamarind


End file.
